


macchiatos and cigarettes

by attxntionreadxr



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bottom Frank Iero, Cigarettes, Coffee, Crossdressing, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Frerard, Homophobic Language, M/M, Please Don't Kill Me, Punk Frank Iero, Starbucks, Student Frank Iero, Sub Frank Iero, Tags May Change, Teacher Gerard Way, Teacher-Student Relationship, The Black Parade, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Top Gerard Way, three cheers for sweet revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attxntionreadxr/pseuds/attxntionreadxr
Summary: Frank Iero is a wayward teenager who just wants to smoke and get the hell out of high school. Gerard Way is an art teacher with a secret and an addiction to chocolate coffee drinks.Falling in love with your teacher sucks, except when it doesn't...





	1. Cancer Never Looked Better

I should have business cards. The best way to introduce yourself is to give someone a little card with your name and all your personality traits like a Sims game. Then people would have more things to say about me other than the usual: "Frank Iero may be a dick, but he's hot". Or better yet: "Frank Iero? Isn't he that pastor's kid that gets around a lot?" I have no problem with what people say about me. I may hate Belleville High more than I hate spiders, but other kids' opinions have never bothered me.

What does bother me is that the only teacher that I get along with in this hell-space is going on maternity leave. Congratulations Ms. Jackson, for leaving me alone here. In Hell. I'm probably going to be stuck with some old fat white dude who hates teenagers and doesn't know jack-shit about art for the rest of the semester. What a great way to start my senior year. So, I'm taking a well-deserved smoke break to deal with this tragedy. Usually, I'd smoke with Jamia, but she's still on her little posh expensive exchange trip in Italy. Now I have to smoke alone, like a loser.

I let my rather short hair fall over my eyes as I take a drag, sweet cigarette smoke filtering up into my lungs. 

"You know, smoking on school property isn't allowed." I roll my eyes, not bothering to look up. Some nerdy ninth-grader can't take away my damn drugs.

"Faculty doesn't care and neither do I," I reply shortly, smoke drifting out of my mouth softly. 

"So if I went straight to the principal...? The person's voice takes on a teasing note and I look up out of annoyance. But my angry retort dies on my lips as my eyes widen. The man smirking at me has hazel eyes and an angular nose, his face framed by soft jet-black dyed hair. His form is clothed by a white-collared shirt and black leather jacket, long legs clad in black slacks. Hints of eyeliner line his almond eyes. Call me a damn poet, but this man looks better than any model I've jacked off to. 

Did I mention I'm a huge gay? Not tall, but my gay energy spikes when I see a hot man. And now that energy is off the fucking charts. 

"They wouldn't care," I mumble, trying to collect my thoughts. Honestly, all I can think is 'fuck me'. Hormones can be a bitch. "I'd rather you didn't say anything though," I add, harshly inhaling more smoke. Something about this guy makes my insides twist. I catch sight of his teacher's lanyard glinting in the sunlight, his I.D reading 'G. Way'.

"I don't doubt it." He replies amiably, his smirk pronounced. "I won't bust you for it if you put the thing out and join everyone inside." 

"Can I at least finish it?" I say, blowing a cloud out gently. 

"I said now, didn't I?" The teacher says firmly, his hazel eyes fixed on mine. His sharp tone makes me shiver and I cast my gaze downwards. 

"Fine," I grumble with as much attitude as I can muster. I drop the stick forlornly and crush it with the toe of my Vans. I head straight for the cafeteria, turning my back on the smug-looking man. When I arrive at the large area, I sit down between Ryan and Patrick, scowling heavily. 

"Aw, Frank's mad, everybody hide the weapons!" Brendon jokes, holding his plastic knife close. 

"Shut up," I say, making my friends laugh. "Some asshole made me get rid of my smoke." I point to Way across the room as he enters.

"That guy?" Ryan asks, and I nod, my eyes watching the man's movement avidly despite my annoyance. "Makes sense, I think he's new."

"He's hot though," I mumble to myself, unaware that I'd spoken aloud until Ryan laughs.

"You have heart eyes, Iero." He chuckles. I tear my gaze from the teacher and glare at the curly-haired boy.

"I do not!" I snap.

"Seriously, you act all tough, but you can't fool us," Ryan says, resting his head on his hand. "You're like a puppy trying to be a wolf." 

"He's right, Frank," Brendon says seriously. Both boys nod, smiling.

"I'm not a fucking puppy," I grumble, glaring at the shit-eating grins on my friends' faces. I turn to Patrick, who has his nose in a textbook. "Back me up here, Patrick!" He looks up, rolling his eyes.

"Guys, leave the poor boy alone," Patrick says, smiling. "Let him be in denial."

"Fuck all of you," I mumble as they roar with laughter, smiling a little.

~~

I walk into the classroom reluctantly, five minutes late. I've been dreading meeting the horrible, wrinkled, mean replacement for Ms. Jackson. But I can't avoid it any longer. I make my way to my seat without looking up, eyes trained on the floor.

"Nice of you to join us." A teasing voice rings out as I sit down. My head snaps up, my eyes zeroing in on the tall dark-haired man, his own eyes sparkling with laughter.

He's the new teacher?

"You're lucky I haven't taken the attendance yet." The man was saying, his lips turned up in a smile. I notice that he talks from the side of his mouth, as though he was used to talking with something in his mouth. He writes 'Mr. Way' in an untidy scrawl on the blackboard. I have tunnel vision as I stare at him. He starts to call out names from the register on his computer screen, acknowledging each person in turn. "Frank Iero?" He calls, his eyes flickering over everyone. He pronounces it in a way that emphasizes his Jersey accent, as eye-air-oh.

"You said it wrong," I reply, smirking. "It's pronounced eye-ear-oh." He nods.

"Thank you for correcting me." Mr. Way amends.

"You're welcome," I say, raising a quiet chorus of laughter from most of the class.

"George Ross?" Mr. Way continues, ignoring me as I kick my feet up on a chair beside me. 

"I prefer Ryan," Ryan replies, grinning at me. The teacher nods again, continuing down the list until he finishes. As soon as the last person is accounted for, Mr. Way types a few things then settles back into his chair. 

"I had a chance to speak with Ms. Jackson before she left and she gave me records of your other assignments." He says, surveying the class. "But I will be giving you weekly art assignments, and they are a lot easier than the curriculum assignments. Just hand in one piece of art every Friday, starting next week. The best marks will be awarded to the students that put their best efforts into their art. You may use any class time to work on this. Have at it." He dismisses us with a wave of his hand. The room fills with chatter and the sound of materials being taken out.

"He's really easy, huh Frank?" Ryan says, turning to me. I ignore him, still staring at Mr. Way, who seems to be reading a comic book. "Earth to Frank!" Ryan says loudly, poking my arm until I give him my attention.

"What?" I exclaim, flicking my gaze back to Ryan in annoyance. 

"You've got heart eyes again!" He sings. He repeats it, turning the phrase into a mantra that the entire class begins to sing it as well, their voices rising.

"Frank's got heart eyes!" They chanted quietly, then louder. I tried to shut them up without drawing attention to myself, seeing Mr. Way's mouth twitch into a slight smile as the class' voices got louder.

"Shut up!" I yelled eventually, glaring at Ryan and Brendon. The class fell silent in a split second, but it wasn't my doing. Mr. Way was standing up, his comic forgotten and smile gone. He walked over to my table slowly and intentionally, eyebrows knitted into a frown.

"Frank," He says sternly, stopping close to me. "See me after class."

"Sorry," I say quietly, my cheeks heating up with embarrassment. I curse myself as he walks away and the class resumes their normal chatter. Just like when he caught me smoking, his tone and piercing gaze made my insides writhe. I exhale hard, finally breathing.

"You suck, Ross." I spit at Ryan, my voice cracking.

"What was _that_?" He says incredulously. "I haven't heard you apologize since we were like, six."

"I don't know," I mutter sullenly. "Don't judge me, I felt bad for yelling."

"You're not high, right?"

"No!" He shrugs, glancing from me to Mr. Way. I can tell that half the girls in this class feel the same way I do, from the giggles and whispers anyways. "Besides, I'm probably gonna get detention and it's all your fault." But my mind drifts back to my encounter with Mr. Way earlier. Particularly when I first looked up at him through a haze of smoke. It was as if the smoke was a part of him, the cancerous particles floating around him. I think to myself, 'cancer has never looked better'.

~~

The bell rings, piercing through the voices in the classroom. In a mass exodus, the students rush out the door, excitedly talking about their plans for the upcoming weekend in two days. 

"Frank!" Mr. Way says loudly as I try to sneak out with Ryan. Wildly, I consider pretending not to hear and running out. Eventually, I just sigh and turn back. The tall man waves at a seat upfront and I sit down, sitting on the edge of the chair. He waits until the room is empty of everyone but us, then turns his hazel eyes to me. "Would you like to explain your behaviour earlier this period, Frank?"

"My friends were just..." I trail off, not wanting to explain the chant. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again." I end up mumbling an apology, unable to meet his eyes.

"If there's no reason, then I'll have to punish your disruptive behaviour." He says calmly. Come on, there was no way I wasn't going to make that the dirtiest sentence in existence. "I was quite easy on you when I found you smoking." He was going on, sitting on the desk next to mine. "Do I have to worry about you causing any more trouble?" I shake my head, not trusting my voice. Mr. Way sighs. "I would appreciate it if you looked at me while I talk to you." He scolds lightly, tapping my clenched hands. My eyes reluctantly drift up to his. "Do you have an idea for your artwork yet?" He asks gently when I don't respond. I wrack my mind for any bullshit I can come up with, chewing on my lip ring idly.

"Probably like ghosts and stuff," I reply vaguely, my ring caught between my teeth. My gaze wanders back to Mr. Way, his eyes trained on my lips with a dark expression. I freeze for a moment, cheeks heating up again. I'm reminded of the stare of a tiger, keeping its prey trapped in its gaze. My mind restarts its chorus of 'fuck me' as our eyes meet.

"You may leave." He says after a pause, turning away. The tension snaps and I hurry out, catching sight of Gabe down the hall. I grin, raising my hand to wave as he turns to see me. 

"Yo, Frank!" Gabe yells, a wide smile spreading across his face. I jog the last few steps and he pulls me into a one-armed hug, enveloping me in a distinct smell of weed and a horrible aroma of way too much men's body spray. Briefly, my mind drifts back to the sweet scent of coffee and cigarettes surrounding Mr. Way and I push the thought aside. 

"You stink, seriously," I say, shoving the taller boy away. "Lighten up on the Axe, it's gross enough." Gabe laughs. 

"Ryan was telling me you were grumpy," He teases, earning him a hard punch on the arm. "Okay, fine I'll shut up."

"Do you want to come over?" I ask, fishing out a cigarette as soon as we are off the school property. "My dad has a late sermon."

"Why didn't you start with that?" He says, nodding.

How do you forget the hot guy you can't fuck? Fuck your fuck buddy.


	2. Being A Homo Gives Major Satan Points

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love AO3 ok bye. Let's get to the Frerard, Killjoys! I'm a disappointment to my family :)

"What?" I ask incredulously, my lips lifted in a smile as I stare at Gabe.

"I've never had kitchen sex!" Gabe explains patiently, gesturing around at my dad's kitchen. "Don't crush my dreams, Frank!" I laugh. Looking around at the room, I make note of the bread crumbs on the far counter and the slowly increasing pile of dishes in the sink.

"My kitchen is fucking gross," I say, wrinkling in my nose. "Why can't we just fuck in my room like usual?"

"I told you, I've had sex everywhere but a kitchen!" He answers, clearly not seeing the health hazard that I do. "I want to be able to say I've had sex everywhere."

"You haven't had sex in Germany," I reply. He groans, rolling his eyes.

"I can't do everything!" He protests. We've been arguing about where to fuck for over half an hour.

"Fine, we can make out in here." I sigh, and Gabe grins. "But we fuck upstairs, right?"

"I'll have to make do." He groans dramatically. 

"Shut up," I grumble, hoisting myself up on to the counter. Gabe grins, setting his hands on my hips and pulling himself closer to me. Leaning forward, I press my lips to him roughly, only thinking of not thinking anymore. Gabe is good for that, forgetting. Forgetting the consequences of my existence, forgetting my sins by sinning harder. Forgetting the possibility of being found out by my staunch Catholic pastor of a father. Memory loss is the miracle of having sex with Gabe. 

"You good, Frank?" He asks quietly, as I sigh gently. 

"Mm," I mumble, seeking to quiet him. I press closer, my hands wrapping around his neck. His mouth moves to my jawline, then my neck, going farther than I'd intended. But I'm too far into dissolving my memory that all I can do is smile slightly. I flick my eyes to the door, which is plain sight, but it remains empty of any approaching figure. Just as I'm about to suggest we go up to my bedroom, Gabe's lips lock on to the hollow of my neck, sucking harshly and I moan.

"Still against kitchen sex?" He teases, fiddling with the button on my jeans as he pulls away and meets my eyes. I can feel my eyelids half-closed, and my gaze is lazy, sliding over Gabe's face.

"Yep, I'm not having sex on a damn counter." I refuse, my voice light and breathy.

"What if I just jerk you off a little?" He asks, unhooking the button slowly. I open my mouth to refuse again, but then I close it. 

"Fine, but don't get me off all the way." I resolve, hooking my legs around his. He grins wider, smashing our lips together in a renewed aroused frenzy and slipped his hand into my boxers. I moaned against his mouth again. Then a sound entered my ears, far too late.

"Frank!" A voice calls from the opening door. I'm too slow to push Gabe away and Gabe doesn't even register the sound. Pastor Iero walks into the house to see his almost seventeen-year-old son with another boy's hand down his pants and lips on his. Gabe jumps away, his hands flying out.

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for ages until I broke it, my eyes locked on my dad.

"I think you should get going," I say quietly to Gabe, who nods and rushes past my dad. The slam of the front door resonates in the thick silence. 

"Hey, Dad," I say nonchalantly, zipping up my jeans and hopping off the counter. For a moment, I can pretend everything's fine. Until it isn't.

"How long have you been hiding this from me?" He asks, eyes burning with hot anger. I shrug. "How long have you been betraying God?" I roll my eyes.

"I don't know, like a while," I say, playing along with his holier-than-thou attitude sarcastically. He seems to be mulling something over in his head before he speaks again, a weird glazed look shading his eyes.

"We'll fix it," He replies suddenly.

"What?" My gaze zeros in on him, shocked.

"It's just a disease, I know someone who can-" I cut him off.

"I'm not sick," I snap. "I kiss one guy and now you think I'm some sinner?" I expected the intolerance, I really did. I just really wanted to be proved wrong. God, I wish he could see past all that bullshit he preaches every single day.

"You were doing a lot more than kissing," Pastor Iero says with disgust. "I won't tolerate this in my house."

"What the- it's my house too!" I snap. "Why does it matter who I make out with?" 

"Because you have let Satan influence you, and it's a horrible sin." He replies shortly. "If you refuse to listen to the word of God, then you are not welcome in this house." 

"Then I'll leave," I threaten, crossing my arms. 

"Good, I can't stand to look at you." Pastor Iero spits, throwing my shoes to me, as though they're tainted with my sin. I stare for a moment.

"Fine." I snap, turning on my heel and stalking up to my room. Throwing all my essential shit in my overnight bag, tearing apart my drawers to find all my cigarettes and weed. All the while, my dad had followed me upstairs and was watching me take my stuff. I snagged my guitar case, finding it empty. I turn on Pastor Iero, fuming. "Give me my damn guitar."

"I paid for that piece of junk, it isn't your property." He replies. I grind my teeth angrily.

"It was my property the moment Mom gave it to me four years ago." I shoot back, watching his face fall for a moment.

"I donated it either way." Pastor Iero says, and my heart stops. He donated Pansy, the guitar I've adored ever since I got it? My eyes water slightly and I yell another curse at my dad before pushing past him and storming back down to the kitchen. "You can still change, Frank!" He calls after me. This time, I don't answer. Shoving my feet into my Vans, my dad blocks my path to the door.

"Move," I say, my voice loud.

"If you walk out this door, then you are no longer my son." He says angrily, his hand resting on my shoulder heavily. "You will have abandoned the Lord and your family. But if you stay, I can get the church to help and heal you." I attempt to brush his hand off, but his fingernails dig into my skin, not letting me leave.

"I'm not diseased!" I argue, my fists clenched. 

"The first step is admitting when you need help." My dad's voice takes on a soothing tone, almost patronizing. He tries to steer me back inside into his God-fearing bullshit but I keep myself planted, glaring.

"I want to leave," I demand, unable to breathe in this damn house. All of the consequences of my sins are crashing down, and it would only be worse if I let my father try to convert me. "Fuck off." As soon as the curse leaves my mouth, Pastor Iero brings his hand up and smack me across the face, leaving a horrible sting. My head whips back and a ringing enters my ears. I stare blankly at his strangely warped features. Oh wait, I'm crying.

"A faggot's mouth will not be open around me!" He yells, shoving me back in the kitchen. His disgust and fury seem to come back to the surface as I struggle to duck under his arm and make a run for it. I manage to pry his hand off and sprint back for the door, throwing it open and running down the street, my bag swinging wildly on my arm. "Don't come back then, you fucking fag!" He shouts after me and I choke back a sob, running faster. I'm able to make it about halfway down the fifth block when I collapse on the sidewalk, my head in my arms. I could still smell the stench of the gross communal wine on his breath. I look up through the haze of tears to see two figures in the alley across from me, one with frizzy hair and the other with long black styled hair. They seemed to be in a deep conversation and before I could stare any further, a car pulled up in front of me.

"Frank," Someone said, and I meet Gabe's eyes. Roughly, I wipe my face and force a lopsided smirk. What kind of man am I if I cry over this? I'm not a fucking coward and I refuse to act like one.

"What, here for round two?" I tease, irony shining through at that moment. My voice cracks and I flinch when he tries to help me up.

"Wanna party at my house?" He asks, completely oblivious to my discomfort. I push myself up and shake my head.

"Nah, can you take me to Ryan's?" I say as steadily as I can. Ryan is the only person I can think of that would take me in. Gabe nods and I reject his offer to open the car door for me. It isn't entirely Gabe's fault, but the resentment has to go somewhere and my dad isn't here to receive it. As we drive, I check my cheek in the mirror. The mark is visible, little purple dots littered amongst the bright red of my jaw. Pastor Iero hit me harder than I has thought, and the sting is slowly morphing to an agonizing ache. Most of the pain is emotional, but still. How pathetic.

"Your Majesty." Gabe jokes as he stops in front of the Ross residence. I mumble a 'fuck off', involuntarily flinching as I expect a blow. But none comes, Gabe just laughing and tossing my bag at me. "See you later, faggot friend." He yells after me, making me cringe. Sometimes I just want to punch Gabe in the teeth for comments like that. I ring Ryan's doorbell. After a few moments, he opens it, laughing about something.

"Hey, stranger." He says cheerfully, opening the door wider and letting me in. "You moving to Canada, eh?" Despite my melancholy, I laugh, feeling my fake smile fall into a real one.

"I got kicked out," I explain what happened, Ryan's face morphing into a serious one, concerned.

He seriously hit you?" He says incredulously, staring at my jaw. I touch it tentatively and nod. "That's fucked, man."

"I think he was drunk from the communal wine, I could smell it," I reply. Ryan shakes his head, not responding.

"You can crash here, my mom won't care." He says confidently, taking my bag and beckoning me up to his room. I follow him, my heart is a little lighter. "Hey, Ma! Frank's gonna sleepover here for a while!" He calls at his mom, who is washing dishes in the kitchen.

"Have fun, nice to see you, Frank!" She yells back, smiling at me before going back to her washing. We go up to Ryan's room and I'm struck by the luxury of his room yet again.

"Jesus, I keep forgetting that you got a microwave up here." I laugh, looking around at the various appliances and rich furniture. Ryan's family was wealthy, to say the least. Throughout our childhood, Ryan was spoiled rotten in every way. My family was never that well-off, we only have enough money to afford necessities. Not that my dad wanted more. He was adamant about only having what we needed and our faith in the Lord. 

"How else am I going to heat my midnight popcorn?" He shoots back, dumping my stuff on the air mattress that he didn't put away from last time I stayed over. "Do you want to talk about... what happened?"

"I'd rather just forget about it, you know?" I say, picking at a loose thread on my ripped jeans. I can already feel myself blocking out the events. I don't need to dwell on the past. If I stay with Ryan, I can forget everything. He nods.

"Wii Bowling then?" He asks, tossing me a remote.

~

"C'mon, get it!" I yell at the screen, urging on the digital ball. It rolls right down the middle and knocks over every pin as I crow with delight. "Ha, strike! Suck it, Ross!" Ryan groans, jumping off his bed.

"How?!" He exclaims as his remote strap swings. We've been playing Wii for over three hours and he has not won a single game.

"Because I am a Wii God, peasant." I chuckle, flopping on my back on to one of his beanbags. I burst into laughter as Ryan sends the bowling ball back into the Mii spectators, his remote nearly flying out of his hand. "Nice shot."

"Shut up." He grumbles, trying again and throwing the ball into the gutter. "Aw, fuck!"

"What were you saying, I can't hear you over my bowling skills," I joke, dodging Ryan's attempted smack. Amidst our arguing, the doorbell rings and I race Ryan to get it.

"Beat you!" I call as I open the front door, Ryan running after me.

"Surprise!" Brendon says cheerfully as the door opens, revealing him standing there with Patrick and some other guy that looks a little familiar. He's the kid that sits next to me in English, the one with the awkward posture and weird glasses.

"Why the hell do you have a pizza?" I ask, letting them in when Ryan nods at me, grinning like an idiot.

"It's a 'you got kicked out pizza', duh," Brendon laughed, setting it down and taking a slice. "Ryan texted me and told us what happened, so party time!" I shoot an annoyed look at the grinning curly-haired boy, but my heart isn't in it. My face broke out into a smile, Brendon's nonchalance was truly a gift.

"Yeah, because my dad kicking me out translates to a need for pizza," I say sarcastically. I reach for a slice, then wrinkle my nose in disgust. "I'm a vegetarian, Bren!" The pizza was loaded with pepperoni, bacon and a bunch of other unsavoury meats. Ryan comes over and glares at Brendon, who looks on the verge of laughter.

"You idiot, I said get a veggie one!" He complains.

"Veggie is gross!" Brendon shoots back.

"You're not the one who needs the pizza!" Ryan cries, pointing at me. "The pizza was supposed to be for Frank!"

"It's fine, I'll have ice cream," I say before Brendon can snap back. I grin at Ryan. "I know your mom has some in the freezer." 

"Are you sure?" He asks anxiously. "I can just tell this dipshit to go get proper pizza." He jerks his thumb at Brendon, who's on his third slice.

"It's fine," I repeat amusedly. Spontaneously, I wrap my arms around him in a hug. "Thank you."

"No problem, dude," Ryan replied. "Anything for my gay disaster." I shove him away, laughing.

"Oh fuck off." I giggle, leaning against the counter. I smile at the glasses kid, who looks a little lost. "You're in my English class, right?"

"Yeah, I'm Mikey." He says, picking at the pizza in his hand. "Sorry for crashing your party, but Bren dragged me." I wave him off.

"It's cool, dude," I reassure him. "Besides," I add. "What could you possibly doing if you weren't with the coolest motherfuckers of Belleville High?" Mikey rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Well, Gerard and I were going to go see the new Aliens movie." He says, sounding a little sad. "But he can suck it up and accept the fact that I have friends and he doesn't." That makes us all burst into laughter and my mood lightens even more. Who needs a dad when you have three idiots for friends?

"John Wick, anyone?" I ask, smiling. Ryan, Brendon and Patrick exchange a look and start to chuckle again.

"Figures the puppy wants to watch John Wick," Brendon says quietly, and I aim a kick at him, missing badly.

"Come on!" I whine, only spurring on their puppy jokes. I take back what I said earlier, they are the worst.

Kind of... 


	3. Pleated Skirts and Frank Wont Shut Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, writer's block is bitch! xofrankie

I wake up on the floor, my legs tangled in a bunch of blankets. I remember almost nothing of last night after Brendon pulled out some weed.

** _"You're kidding right?" I asked gleefully, making grabby hands at the drugs that Brendon had dangled in his hands._ **

** _"Nope, I brought some for the entire family!" He laughed, tossing me a lighter and some of the marijuana._**

I groan, hauling myself up and trying to ignore my pounding headache as I squint around the living room for the clock. I stare blankly at the glowing numbers before their meaning breaks through my drug-fuelled haze. It was eight-thirty, fifteen minutes until school starts.

"Ryan, wake the fuck up!" I yell, pulling on his arm and making him fall on top of me, off the couch. "Get up, we're gonna be late!" I shove him off, stumbling around to find my jacket and shoes. 

"Ugh, it's six in the morning, what are you doing?" Ryan mumbles, still lying immobile on the floor.

"It's eight thirty-two!" I yell again, causing Ryan's head to shoot up.

"No, it can't be," He mutters, staring at the clock for like a minute as I impatiently tap my Vans on the hardwood. I clear my throat, breaking his trance. "Shit," He curses, jumping up and searching for his jacket, running around and gathering his stuff.

"Dude, we're not gonna get there on time if you don't_ hurry the fuck up_!_"_ I shout at Ryan, who seems to be attempting to brush his teeth. "Ditch the toothbrush and let's go!" Shoelaces flapping and shirts half-buttoned, we sprint down the streets to the school, which is about four blocks from Ryan's house. We burst through the school doors just as the bell rings.

"See you at lunch, dude!" He calls after me as I make a sharp turn down the hall to my Maths class. I burst through the door, eliciting a loud round of laughter from my peers, which hurts my head. 

"Go get a late pass, Iero," Mr. Donovan says without looking up from his computer.

"You haven't even finished the attendance!" I protest, flopping into my seat at the back. He makes a show of marking me absent and clicking 'submit attendance record'. 

"Go get a late pass," He repeats, smiling blandly at me and resting his fat hands on his protruding stomach. I huff angrily, shouldering my bag and leaving the room. Halfway to the main office, I decided to simply let the secretary mark me late and then skip class. I can take Patrick's notes anyways since he was the only one who didn't get high off his ass last night.

"Ah, late again, Frank?" The secretary asks cheerfully and I nod as I walk in. She taps at her computer and prints off a slip of paper for me, detailing my absence. I take the paper and throw her a fake smile as I walk out again, not bothering to even pretend to go to class. The faculty know me better than I'd like to admit since I get sent down to the principal more often than not. It isn't my fault... well it sort of is. The teachers here enjoy singling me out for reasons that I can't even fathom. All I know is that they nitpick and criticize me for literally everything, and I have a habit of back-talking them. I walk over to the stoner bike racks and breathe in the cool October air as I lean against the metal.

On the plus side of things, my birthday is coming up on the thirty-first. Yes, my birthday is on Halloween. I'm thinking of getting finger tattoos, spelling out 'Halloween', that's how much I love my birthday. When I told Jamia about my plan however, she laughed and said, "Good plan, Frank. Then you'll have 'ween' inked on you forever". That girl can be such an ass. But she was kind enough to pay for a scorpion tattoo on my neck for my sixteenth last year. Not to be a total sucker, but I miss her. We'd been best friends since preschool, going to church together, quitting church together. Honestly, our friendship went full circle. 

I met Ryan and Bren in kindergarten. Their friendship was just like Jamia's and mine, but somehow even closer. Jamia was in a special accelerated program for 'gifted' kids and I was left alone in a big scary classroom all by myself.

** _"Hey, Bren an' me wanted to know if you were gonna play... uh, hide and seek with us!" A voice called out from close to me. I looked up from chewing on my thumb and recoiled. This boy wasn't Jamia! I didn't like him, not at all! Jamia was funny and amazing, this boy was not. _ **

** _"Nuh-uh!" I huffed nastily, accidentally snapping a crayon. "My friend Jam is coming to play with me!" I wanted this boy to go away and let me be sad without my best friend. But he just smiled widely and plopped down on the carpet in front of me._ **

** _"Why are you so short?" He asked, poking my leg. My mouth fell open, why would he ask me that?_ **

** _"I-I dunno," I said, lip wobbling as I tried not to cry. I hated how short I was, the other kids laughed and called me a dwarf. I'm not a dwarf!_ **

** _"Well, I think you're a secret agent and you're just pretending to be a kid!" The boy cried, pointing a finger at me. I sniffed, a secret agent?_ **

** _"H-How'd you know?" I asked cautiously, playing along. _ **

** _"Because you're the handsomest boy here, except for me!" He said smugly, crossing his arms. I giggled, my angry frown dropping away._ **

** _"You're right, I am a secret agent!" I cried, jumping up and shooting a pretend laser with my fingers. The boy burst into laughter, ducking away from my lasers. "And you're an alien that I gotta capture!" The boy shrieked as I ran after him into the playground, calling out for his friend._ **

** _"Bren, help!" He laughed, hiding behind a taller boy with messy hair. Bren looked confused, looking from me to the boy._ **

** _"What?" He asked stupidly, causing me and the boy to fall over laughing our heads off._ **

** _"Pew, pew!" I tried feebly, shaking with peals of laughter as I pretended to shoot Bren._ **

I was jolted from my fond memory as the bell rang shrilly. I glanced down at my watch, how the hell had an hour and a half passed so quickly? I walked quickly to my next period class, which was a study hall for English. By the time Mikey arrived, I was already lying across two and a half chairs, waving cheerfully at him. He grinned, walking over and shoving my feet off of a chair to sit down.

"I got in so much shit for last night, by the way," He says, raising his hand when the study hall teacher calls his name. I smirk.

"Aw, did your mom and dad ground you for staying up past your bedtime?" I mock him, earning a shove to the shoulder.

"Shut the fuck up, seriously," Mikey laughs, shaking his head. "No, Gerard got pissed because I didn't show up for the movie and was all cranky because he stayed up until four when I got back, just to yell at me." 

"Jeez, how old is he anyway?" I ask.

"Twenty-three, last April," Mikey says off-handedly, flicking through his phone. Man, he has the world's best poker face.

"I'd love to meet him sometime," I prompt, curious for some reason. Mikey's poker face breaks as he laughs again.

"You will," He replies mysteriously, causing me to cock my head to the side and stare at him in confusion. "Nevermind." Quickly, he changes the subject and we end up talking endlessly about random shit like what we would do if there was a school shooting. I said I'd offer up all the teachers as bait then run. 'Not Mr. Way though' I thought absentmindedly. He's too pretty to let die.

~

The rest of the day passes uneventfully, our lunch hour spent with laughter and a lot of teasing. I walk into the art classroom with Ryan by my side

"I can't believe that Mikey said that to Kristin," Ryan laughs, sitting across me. "I swear, he's never gonna date her if he keeps saying shit like that." 

"Yeah," I agree, chuckling. The classroom is full by the time we'd arrived, and the bell rang. But Mr. Way was conspicuously absent, his presence a hole in the large room. That might be an exaggeration, but still.

"Are you and Gabe okay?" Ryan asks tentatively, looking as though he was waiting for an explosion. I shrug, my eyes trained on the door.

"I guess?" I reply, my voice wavering. "I dunno, I'm not that mad. I guess I just need a little time, even if it isn't his fault." Ryan nods, smiling sympathetically.

"Where the hell is our teacher?" Ryan says, casting a glance towards the door. As if on cue, the dark-haired man bursts through the door, clutching a huge Starbucks cup and a bulging folder. 

"Sorry, needed another coffee!" Mr. Way huffed, rubbing his eyes tiredly with the back of his hand. The contents in his arms were dropped on to his desk and the tall artist slumped into his seat, swivel chair squeaking. "Keep working..." he mumbled, head in his arms on his desk. The class resumed its usual chatter and Ryan tapped my shoulder. 

"He looks wrecked," Ryan whispered, jerking his head at the teacher. I nodded, my gaze fixated on Mr. Way's closed eyes. God, he was attractive. 

"Wonder what he was doing..." I trailed off, fiddling with my phone. 

"Heart eyes, Iero," Ryan sang quietly. I glare at the wavy-haired boy, meeting his friend's amused gaze.

"Shut up," I hiss, flicking my eyes to the dozing man at the front.

"Bet you won't blast your band's music on the speakers and piss off the teacher," Ryan chuckles, wiggling the aux cord at me.

"If I do, then you owe me twenty bucks." I counter, snatching the cord and eyeing an almost-sleeping Mr. Way. "I'm taking requests."

"Uh..." Ryan thought for a moment, smirking. "What was that weird-ass song you wrote by yourself? Oh yeah, Leviathan!" My cheeks flushed a bright red and I glared at the cocky fucker.

"Seriously, dude?" I say with a touch of amusement. "The one song that will literally kill me?" Ryan nods.

"This or nothing, Iero," He chuckles, fiddling with the volume controls. I flicked my eyes between Ryan and Mr. Way, weighing my options. In the end, my wish for twenty dollars outweighed my possible embarrassment and certain detention.

"Fine, but not too damn loud!" I sigh, jamming the plug into my phone. I select the hidden track on my playlist, and with a knowing smile flashed at Ryan, I hit play. The drums, guitar and well... uh... moaning jolts Mr. Way awake, the music reverberating through the room.

It takes him the whole song, in his tired and furious state, to discover who was behind the scheme. I grin widely at the teacher as I jerk the cord out of the jack on my phone. I rest my chin on my hand, meeting his fury-fuelled stare with a smirk, daring the older man to do something.

"Detention after class, Mr. Iero," Mr. Way says brusquely, hiding his true anger behind a slight frown. I noticed him fidgeting in his chair and I grinned to myself, turning to Ryan. At least someone found his moaning enjoyable.

"Pay up, Ry!" I say jovially, ignoring the piercing stare that the teacher in undoubtedly sending my way. 

"Bro, you really did it," Ryan giggles, leaning over to punch me lightly. I flick a stray hair from my forehead, cringing at the slightly greasy texture. I haven't been able to wash my hair in a while, the hair-do is slicker than usual.

"I'm not a fucking pansy, of course, I did it," I scoff, smirking wider. "First I beat you on Wii Sports, now I beat you in our bet, what else will I win?" 

"Not a fistfight, I'll take you right now, shorty!" Ryan yells, punching me harder on the shoulder than last time.

"You think so, Ross?" I challenge, launching myself across the aisle to tackle the taller boy. The class erupts into laughter as Ryan and I playfully scuffle, pulling our exaggerated punches and kicks. 

"That is enough!" A commanding voice shouts over the din, quieting everyone in an instant. Ryan and I punch a little longer, then I sit back down, both of us giggling like idiots. Mr. Way doesn't look tired anymore, and my eyes widen slightly as I stare at his tall form. He walks over to my desk slowly, hands in front of him neutrally. He gives off an aura of authority with a single glare.

"Wanna place your bets, Mr. Way?" I ask cheekily as he stops in front of me, my mouth suddenly dry. Fuck, that man is hot when he's mad.

"Mr. Iero," The tall art teacher says painstakingly, drawing out every word for better effect. "You have after school detentions for the rest of this week as well as next week. Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir," I say, mock saluting, causing my peers to chuckle collectively. Mr. Way holds my gaze until the smirk drops off my lips and I have to look away, anything to alleviate the heat of his stare. Jesus Christ, how could he fuck me with his eyes?! Impossible, right? Apparently not, since I feel like Mr. Way could see through every facade I put up and it was humiliating in the best way possible.

"Hm," He mutters darkly, taking up residence behind his desk yet again.

~

The ear-splitting blasting of the bell releases the student body out into the open. Well, everyone but me and Mr. Way. Ryan smiles smugly at me as he leaves, raising an eyebrow. I shake my head, giggling under my breath at his antics. Within a few seconds, the classroom is empty of everyone but us. With the absence of other students, Mr. Way is a lot harder to ignore and defy, his presence a dark shadow over me. The shadow comes closer as the attractive man sits on the desk in front of me, just like yesterday.

"Now, I feel as though both of us would like to spend our Friday afternoon at home, right?" Mr. Way begins lightly, almost fooling me into believing his pretense of friendliness. I nod, swallowing past the huge rock that seems to be lodged in my throat, making my throat tight and head spin. The teacher sighs. "I seem to also remember you promising me that you wouldn't cause trouble in my class, or am I wrong?"

"Uh, no I did promise," I reply sheepishly, scratching my palm idly. 

"I want to know what _you_ think you did wrong since laying it out for you doesn't seem to work," Mr. Way says calmly. "Tell me, Frank. Explain what you did, why you did it and why it was wrong." I clear my throat, staring nervously at my fingers. I felt an odd stir in my chest, like a need to actually answer his questions right. Something about seeing a proud smile or something had me speaking up with relative confidence.

"I played loud music on the speakers, Ryan dared me to," I started, feeling immensely stupid as I laid everything out. Really, all my reasons for the shit I'd done were absolutely horrible. I mean really, I tackled Ryan because I just felt like it? "-And then I back-talked you after you told me about the detention because I'd just come up with a really good comeback and I didn't think before speaking. I shouldn't have because it was disrespectful." I finished, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. When you lay it out like that, it makes the shit you did look so much more dumb and juvenile. Mr. Way hummed, granting me a small smile of approval.

"Good, you got everything," He affirmed, his gravelly tones making me shiver for some odd reason. "Now, do you get why everything you did to act out was entirely unnecessary?"

"Yes, sir," I replied quickly. Something shifted in the young teacher's eyes, darkening considerably. "I-I'm sorry," I manage to stutter out an apology my stomach writhing with the look he was giving me.

"I don't need an apology, I need actions, Frankie." The nickname just slipped out of his mouth so easily and I felt my face heat up as I tried to gather my thoughts. Mr. Way looked concerned, eyebrows furrowed. "You alright? You seem to be a bit flushed." I leaned back in my chair and shook my head, trying to regain my cockiness and confidence. Fuck, why did this one guy rob him of breath and turn him into a mushy puddle of submissive? My hormones aren't helping. I refrained from apologizing again, biting my lip harshly to keep the words in. Just as Mr. Way was about to say something else, a rather short girl burst in, brown hair flowing around her. At that moment, she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen.

"Jamia!" I cried happily, running past the disgruntled art teacher and launched into her arms.

"Hey, pothead," She laughed affectionately, shoving me away when the hug got too long. "Detention again, Frank?"

"Yep, what'd you expect, Nestor?" I challenged playfully, poking her shoulder. I shoot a pleading glance at Mr. Way, hoping desperately for a reprieve.

"Could I... uh, go with Jamia, Mr. Way?" I asked hopefully. The dark-haired man gazed at me for a moment, seemingly torn between keeping me here and getting rid of me. Mr. Way sighed eventually, motioning for us to leave.

"Remember, after school on Monday!" He calls as I jet out of the classroom with the taller girl in tow. As soon as we clear the doorway, I burst into laughter, hastily tugging her forward and out of the school.

"When the hell did you get back and why didn't you tell me?" I demand happily, rounding on her as we near my car. She grins, insanely white teeth displayed.

"I got back yesterday, but you know, jetlag exists, Frank," She chastises, smacking my arm. "And why should I have to answer to you, punk?"

"Because you're my best friend, Jamia," I shoot back, still grinning like an idiot. "How was the trip to Italy?" She groans, shaking her head.

"Horrible, the only thing we did was sit around at stupid press conferences," She sighed, wrinkling her nose. "At least the pizza was bomb as fuck." I chuckle. Of course, only Jamia Nestor, the school prodigy, would only appreciate Italy for its pizza. "Wait, dude, did my folks tell you that I got my own place?"

"What, no!" I exclaim, shocked. "What kind of eighteen-year-old is already moved out?"

"Me, obviously," Jamia jokes. "You want to hang out there?"

"Fuck yeah,"

~(Sorry for all the time skips, the stuff in between is boring as fuck)

I whistle a little, looking around at the nice furniture.

"Why am I the only one with the shitty stuff?" I whine teasingly, flopping back on to her bed. Jamia sits next to me, rolling her eyes in exasperation. 

"Because you're a lazy fuck that doesn't have a job," She points out, dodging my lame attempt at kicking her.

"All you did was go to press conferences and eat pizza, really?" I say, staring at the ceiling. 

"Yep, and I had to wear 'appropriate womanly attire' too," She says in disgust, moving off the bed. I glance at her, watching her pick up an article of clothing and hold it up for my inspection. "See, bullshit." I tilt my head to the side, staring at the black skirt she dangles between her fingers.

"I think it's kinda cute," I muse, sitting up on my elbows. 

"You wear it then," Jamia replies, tossing it at me. I deftly catching, laughing.

"You're kidding, right?" I giggle, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"Nope, I wanna see you in a skirt," She demands, smirking. "I had to wear them for over a year, you can humour me and wear it for a few minutes."

"I don't know what kind of weird kick you get out of this, Jam," I sigh, getting up grudgingly. I slide the clothing over my jeans and take the jeans off after I've done up the zipper for the skirt. There's no mirror in the room, so I honestly have no idea how I look. "I feel like an idiot!" I whine, spinning in a circle to face my best friend. Who just so happens to be deciding between hating me and laughing at me, her face scrunched into a scowl.

"Mirror's in the closet," She says. I drag the closet door open and look at myself in the reflective panel. My eyes widen slightly, taking in the sight of the skirt dangling off my hips. To be perfectly honest, I look like a cross between a stripper and some sort of goth chick, my Misfits shirt bunched up in the best way. I meet Jamia's eyes in the mirror and smile widely.

"It seems I look better in your clothes than you do," I say thoughtfully, twirling around experimentally, delighted when the black material flies around me.

"This isn't fair, I wanted to make fun of you!" She protests, gesturing to me. "Even your stupid punk haircut goes with it, ugh."

"Don't be bitter because I wear it better," I sass, running a hand through my hair. I'd shaved both sides of my head a few months ago and dyed the sides white. It looks fucking rad if I do say so myself. I snigger as Jamia sighs and takes out her phone.

"I'm sending these to Ryan and Bren, in case you were wondering," She mutters, snapping a few pictures and I cock my hip to the side intentionally. "Why are you so gay, dude?" She groans, smirking as I burst into a fit of giggles. My bursts of laughter were coming easier than normal, brought on by Jamia's return.

"Tell me what they reply with," I say, still enraptured by my reflection.

"Ryan said you look like a gay man's wet dream," She snickers, reading the message. 

"God, I hope..." I mumble to myself, my thoughts veering off into a much dirtier path. Jamia smacks me, bringing me out of my daze.

"Who's the guy you're thinking about?" She asks knowingly. My entire face is on fire with embarrassment and I try to shrug it off.

"No one!" I say, way too defensively for anyone to take me seriously. Jamia meets my eyes in the mirror, her eyebrows raised in suspicion. "Not thinking about anybody..." I try again, my response falling on deaf ears.

"Ooh, is it that hot Art teacher you pissed off?" She guesses, laughing when my blush gets even darker. In the mirror, my cheeks are bright red, my expression mortified.

"No!" I exclaim in an instant, knowing that she would never believe me the moment I said it. "It is not, he's not- I'm not-... I'm not thinking about him!"

"Oh my god, it is him!" Jamia teases, smiling at my slowly reddening cheeks. I flop beside her, burying my face in my arms and pouting like a child.

"Yeah..." I grumble, picking at the hem of her skirt.

"Do you think he's into dudes?" She wonders, obviously enjoying herself.

"Definitely, my gay-dar never lies," I reply with confidence, tapping my head to indicate the homosexual radar I have embedded in my brain. 

"But is he into bratty twinks?" She presses teasingly, dodging my second attempt at hitting her.

"Fuck off," I whine, lifting my head to see Jamia smirking at me. "How would I know, Jam?"

"Well, show up to your Art class wearing this, and I guarantee he'll be into twinks, trust me," She explains matter-of-factly.

"Does that mean that this skirt is officially mine?" I ask, sounding far too hopeful for a seventeen-year-old guy asking about a skirt.

"Yep, and all of my other stuff if you want," Jamia replies offhandedly. I smile, glancing at myself in the mirror again. 

"I'm gonna be the gayest motherfucker in Belleville."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is the link to the skirt that Frank was wearing, just for reference :P
> 
> https://images.takeluckhome.com/images/392x588/201901/B/girls-black-high-rise-simple-plain-mini-a-line-pleated-skirt_154829794025.jpg


	4. Death Before Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, luv ya! xofrankie

Over three months, I've gained ownership of practically all of Jamia's Italy clothes, which consisted mostly of skirts and other womanly things. She hates them and I love them, so it's an even trade-off. I haven't had the nerve to wear anything in public though. Something tells me that cross-dressing might be too much for my classmates' fragile masculinity.

"Go get me coffee," Jamia orders, lounging on her bed. I roll my eyes, tugging on the sleeves of my latest outfit. Jamia convinced me to try her black button-up shirt and my old black skirt, complete with see-through black stockings and excessive eyeliner. This was one of her better fashion choices.

"In this, really Jamia?" I say, arms crossed. She nods.

"Come on, you might get a hot guy," She replies, raising an eyebrow.

"Or I'll get called a faggot, or worse," I say, tempted nonetheless.

"It's just one trip to Starbucks, what can it hurt?" She groans, tossing a twenty at me.

"My dignity, especially if you keep throwing money at me like I'm a stripper," I reply, already shoving my feet into my Vans. "But fine, I'm keeping the change!"

"Get me an americano!" She calls as I leave.

"Hey, Mrs. Fisher!" I say cheerfully as I pass Jamia's elderly neighbour walking her dog. The old woman smiles kindly at me and waves. The walk to Starbucks was only about five minutes and I open the glass door, eager to get this over with. The shop is packed so I decided to sit and wait a little while until it clears up. I spot Pete Wentz from where I sit and I slide into a more hidden booth, unaware of its inhabitant until I turn around.

Of fucking course. Sitting right beside me, only like six inches away is Mr. Way. His nose is buried in a comic as per usual and he hadn't noticed me yet. I try to get up, but I'm blocked in by a large crowd, ending up tripping backwards and falling against the dark-haired man.

His book is knocked out of his hands and I struggle to right myself as his head whips around. I scoot as far away as possible, blushing furiously.

"Fuck, s-sorry," I apologize, meeting his amused glance. 

"It's okay, I'm good," He reassures me, smirking.

"I just didn't want to been seen by anyone from school, y'know?" I explain in a rush, watching Pete leave with his friends and ducking out of view like an idiot until they were gone.

"Because of your outfit, I assume?" Mr. Way replies. I nod, sitting up awkwardly.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone, please?" I tacked on an extra cherry on top with the whole 'please' thing.

"I'm quite good at keeping secrets, so yours is safe with me," Mr. Way promises. I relax, wondering slightly about what he'd said. The lines had cleared up rapidly, only two people queued up and waiting for their drinks. "You look cute, by the way," He adds absentmindedly, blowing every other thought out of my head as I flick my gaze up to see his arrogant smirk. The fucker knows, doesn't he? He knows exactly every damn stupid fantasy I've had and just wants me to suffer while he just casually throws little compliments at me? The fucking audacity. I'm too caught up in trying to not let my idiotic excitement show on my face that I said the worst possible thing I could have said.

"You too," I reply, realizing my mistake as soon as the words slip from my lips. He chuckles, rolling his eyes. My cheeks flush a bright red again and I curse under my breath. "I didn't-... oh fuck off, whatever," I mutter, turning away from him. 

"It isn't polite to swear, Frankie," He says seriously, prompting a little huff of laughter past my lips. I try to let the nickname fly over my head, but unfortunately, it hits me in the face. 

"It isn't school, I can fucking swear at whoever I want," I retort, feeling a little childish starting an argument with my Art teacher in a coffee shop. God, this situation is so weird.

"True, but I don't tolerate that sort of behaviour anywhere, from anyone," He replies, as though he were having a conversation about the weather. "Much less a pretty midget in a skirt, Frank. So watch your tongue around me." My previous mission of getting coffee completely forgotten, I smile and swivel around, meeting his eyes.

"I can't actually watch my own damn tongue, Mr. Way," I reply teasingly, somehow getting a kick out of the annoyed expression blooming on his face. "Either way, you can't tell me what to do, so I'll do whatever I fucking damn well please," The teacher mumbles something under his breath, smirking widely. I didn't like being the butt-end of a joke, and I got the feeling there was something I didn't know in the way he was grinning.

"Don't test me," He says quietly, his fingers tapping gently on the wood in front of me. At that moment I was insanely aware of his proximity to me and all the cockiness drained out of my being. I just wanted to kiss him, really! Well, maybe kiss him then suck his dick, but whatever. "You should learn to respect your authorities, it'll get you far." I scoff, attempting to get some sort of confidence back. Why did I have to be such a damn bottom?

"It won't get me jack shit," I snap, suddenly unable to hold his gaze. "I shouldn't have to answer to anyone." At this point, I was straight out lying. My fucking kinks were the epitome of "I'm a submissive bitch that will literally get on my knees for anyone who is even slightly dominant". Not that Mr. Way needed to know that, however. He seemed to anyways though.

"Says the guy in a skirt, your statements have no grounds," Mr. Way snaps back, now fully paying attention.

"My choice of clothing has nothing to do with my want to be a leader!" I retort, almost choking on my lies. In all honesty, I would date him in a heartbeat if he was like... you know... not a fucking teacher! The sex might suck, but who cares? With a face like that, he had to be at least a great kisser. Those lips. I'm not a damn poet, but I feel like kissing him would be like... magic, fireworks! The real union, the sin of two mouths moving in sync against each other and never yielding.

"What guy have you seen in a skirt that is the leader in anything?" He counters, stumping me there.

"Oh, fuck off," I repeat, rolling my eyes and moving to get up. But a rather strong calloused hand grips my wrist and pulls me back down.

"You admit that I'm right?" He implores, raising an eyebrow. The grip on my wrist kind of hurts, but I'm enjoying it too much to complain or to pull free. For some fucked up reason, I have literally no problem with this situation and probably wouldn't be able to find a problem with it even if I tried. 

"Hell no, I'm just saying I can have authority too!" I attempt to argue. 

"It's useless to argue with me, we both know I'm right," He replies smugly.

"I don't even know what you're right about, honestly," I huff. 

"Let's simplify it then," Mr. Way says, a slightly darker note tinging his words with suggestion and not simply an explanation as he'd implied. "Be respectful and watch your mouth, I won't have you running around throwing curses at me like I deserve that. Choose your words more carefully, Frank. Or you may end up somewhere you don't want to be." His little speech was laced with a hidden threat, just like the smirk he'd sent my way earlier. No highschool Art teacher had any business carrying around that much assertive authority. Somehow, I could sense that he was more than just a lowly-paid educator. But I couldn't really describe my gut feeling. It was more of a warning bell, not that he was going to hurt me, but that he was capable of things far beyond the small suburban town we lived in. Mr. Way knew how to command people in ways that couldn't really be taught, somehow.

Or I'm an idiot and my brain is fuzzy from "I'm Gay And I Wanna Be Fucked By A Hot Art Teacher Syndrome". It's hard to tell.

"Is that a threat, sir?" I ask jokingly, still painfully aware of my attire. It made the situation a bit more embarrassing, knowing that I was slightly vulnerable with this secret barred for Mr. Way to see.

"Shut up, Frank," He snapped, obviously not appreciating my hilarious joke.

"Sorry I pissed you off," I reply sarcastically, watching each mocking word hit the older man like a soccer ball, each making him even more irritable. "Didn't need to get all pissy because I made a fucking joke." At this point, the Starbucks was filled with loudly talking groups of kids, the din quite enough to mask our conversation.

"You, Frank Iero, are an asshole," He sighs, taking a drink from the coffee cup I had noticed by his discarded comic book. "We could have had a nice conversation, and you ruined it."

"What happened to your hatred of swearing, Mr. Way?" I asked, hearing the annoying tone slipping into my voice. "_It isn't polite to swear, Frank_," I mock his ridiculously attractive voice, my irritability finally coming to the surface after months of repressing it. It wasn't the teacher's fault, I just had a lot of bottled-up anger that I found joy in wreaking havoc on others to release.

"It isn't, but you being a bratty asshole called for the cursing at the time, as it does now," He said tiredly, rolling his eyes. Upon seeing my smirk, he straightened up and his grip on my wrist tightened. I had forgotten about the hand that had been loosely wrapped around my wrist. But now it was almost unbearably tight and I winced involuntarily. "I can swear in this situation, Frank. Wipe that self-righteous smirk off your face and either leave or fucking behave." The raven-haired man hissed the last words between his teeth, nearly spitting them at me and the smile I had plastered on fell off, replaced by a wide-eyed open-mouthed stare. I hadn't expected him to say any of that, so I was thrown for a loop. How could I respond, tell him that every time he talked down to me like that I just liked him even more? 

No fucking way in hell. I'd just sit and suffer from my (unbearable at this point) crush.

"Okay, I'm sorry," I apologized quickly, wanting to kiss him so badly. He released my wrist and jerked his head at the empty queues. I took the hint and turned away to get up. Just as I'm about to stand, he's suddenly much closer, but still too far away to kiss, his lips hovering next to my ear. I froze, my hands gripping the seat. He was so fucking close, I couldn't breathe.

"Try to keep this good attitude in class, hm?" He whispered, making me shiver and nod, swivelling my head to try and press my lips to his because fuck it. He obviously saw my intentions, pulling back as I tried to lean towards him, resuming our safe distance. "And what do you think you're doing, Frankie?" He asked, watching my face fall. He plays with my emotions like this and expects me not to try and jump him?

"N-Nothing, just leaving," I hastily cover my mistake up and leap out of my seat, heading toward the barista. The girl looked extremely bored as she took my order, and in no time I got the two coffees and was speeding towards the door, desperate to get out of the Starbucks that contained my unfairly hot crush. About to balance both cups on my arms, a black-leather-clad arm snaked around me and opened the door for me. Flushing a deep crimson, I mumbled a thank-you, shuffling my coffees around to make sure I wouldn't drop them. An unexpected touch came to my right cheek, a gentle press of soft skin I hadn't been expecting.

"Don't be as obvious next time," Mr. Way smiled, widening the door. "People could get the wrong impression." I stared at him in shock for a second before letting out an odd little giggle and speeding away, fast walking away from Mr. Way, his cryptic flirty talking and the cloud of authority he held over everything. 

~Time Skip~

I burst through Jamia's apartment door, slamming it behind me with a foot, setting the coffees down on the table and collapsing on the couch screaming into a pillow. 

"Jamia!" I cry, lifting my head from the pillow as I shout for my best friend, freaking out to every extent. A very annoyed looking Jamia walks in, already bitching about how late I was.

"An hour, Frank?!" She exclaims, seizing the hot drink and not hearing or seeing my freak-out on the couch. "Where the fuck are you anyways?"

"I'm right fucking here, you asshole!" I scream into the pillow, feeling like acting like the brattiest teenager on the planet apparently. I see her look around and land on my tantruming for on the couch.

"What happened to you?" She laughs, sitting across from me. I bring my face away from the pillow and reveal my stupid-ass giddy grin that decorates my features.

"He called me cute and kissed me on the cheek when I went to Starbucks, I don't know what to do!" I whine, sitting up.

"Who, Gabe?" She replies teasingly. I throw a pillow at her viciously.

"No, Mr. Way!" I say, trying to maintain patience. "I don't know what this means, I don't know what to do when I go back to school tomorrow, I'm a fucking mess!" Jamia hands me my coffee and smiles.

"Not much you can do in school, since, you know..." She raises her eyebrows meaningfully and I get it. I can't exactly confront him during school since he is a teacher and him even complimenting me was a little odd for some people to grasp. 

"But what do I do when I can talk to him privately?" I ask hopelessly, feeling disheartened. "'Hey I wanna suck your dick and I like your face, wanna date?' No, I can't just... I don't know what to say." Jamia pats my knee and takes a huge swig of caffeine before answering me.

"Mr. Way probably isn't fucking with you, so he'll find the time to talk to you at some point," She begins, looking slightly troubled. "I mean, he'll wanna be careful, since the whole relationship in the first place is illegal. He looks quite young, though. Like twenty-three or four?"

"Maybe..." I say, not really worried about his age at the moment.

"He'll talk to you, and if he doesn't then talk to him after class, get your head sorted," She finishes. "Are you done acting like a twelve-year-old girl now?"

"Fuck off, bitch," I laugh, taking a drink of my own coffee and feeling slightly less manic as before.

"Oh, and uh, Gabe invited us to his house party tonight," She adds offhandedly, gauging my reaction. I'd told her early on that I'd been kicked out and she hasn't really forgiven Gabe, even though I've never really held what happened against him. "You up to get wasted, Frank?"

"Nah, his parties are lame anyways," I decline, smirking at the relieved look on Jamia's face. "Friends before... uh, fiends! Bros before hoes!" I begin to ramble, smiling at the fit of laughter I seem to have sent Jamia into. "Stay in and don't sin!" I cry jovially, making Jamia laugh even harder.

"Y-You sound like such a fucking idiot," She cackles, holding her stomach.

"Death before, uh, disco!" I reply, smirking. "That would be a cool song title, that would be rad."

"You could call it Party Poison too," She remarks, catching her breath. 

"Our new hit single, Death Before Disco (Party Poison)!" I announce, giggling. "Performed by the Chemical... uh, Brothers!"

"Nuh-uh, Mikey came up with a cool ass name that was better than that!" Jamia says suddenly. "It was like... god what was it?"

"I couldn't remember either, something to do with chemicals and they're mine," I shrug, flopping back on the couch with a sigh. Jamia snaps her fingers excitedly.

"My Chemical Romance, that was it!" She crows, and I groan. How did I not remember that?

"Listen to My Chemical Romance's hit single, Party Poison!" I reply loudly, playing air guitar. 

"Dude, you said Death Before Disco first," She corrects.

"Party Poison is cooler, actually," I say, still playing air guitar. "MCR would have like three platinum albums, a couple of world tours, we'd be like legit and shit."

"Who would sing? We both know it wouldn't be you," Jamia teases, and I stick my tongue out.

"I don't know, really," I think hard, but I can't think of anyone. "I know I'd be rhythm guitar and Mikey would play bass. That's all I know so far."

"A two-piece band can't do shit, Frank," She chuckles, tossing her cup across the room and landing it neatly in the sink. "Even if they did, they'd do stupid shit like coordinate their albums with their hair colour and one would like play ukelele or something shitty like that."

"Ugh no," I groan.

"Recruit that fro-dude in your English class," She says. "I heard he plays some wicked shows with his brother in one of the local bands."

"We still need a singer, though!" I point out, trying to visualize the best fit for My Chemical Romance's lead singer. "He'd be like really creative in lyrics, telling stories and shit, I guess. We'd need to be cool! This guy would be the mastermind, yeah! He'd have to be hot too, he'd be the face of the entire sound, you know?"

"Definitely," Jamia agreed. "Absolutely no to Gabe's party?"

"Death before Disco, Jamia," I reply, smiling. "Death Before Disco."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what the hell happened at the end but WARNING!!!!! MCR WILL NOT BE IN THIS FIC BC I SAY SO, SO YEAH SORRY IF I GOT SOMEONE'S HOPES UP
> 
> Stream FANDOM thanks


	5. Frank Iero And His Insufferable Gayness (ft. Mr. Way)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda hitting a mental block atm, but I hope this chapter turns out semi-okay! As always, enjoy motherfuckers!

I like to think that I'm a pretty chilled out guy. Like I don't overreact to stuff, to my knowledge. Of course, the situation at Starbucks three days ago was a total overreaction, but that wasn't something I've done before.

But even I have to admit that I've been a huge asshole these past days. I haven't been acting up, exactly. But I've made it my personal mission to avoid Mr. Way at all costs. I'm the last one in the class and the first one out every day.

"I still can't believe you skipped out on Gabe's party!" Ryan sighs mockingly as we sketch endlessly, Mr. Way clicking away at his computer. "Is it because you're mad that his dick got you in trouble?"

"Oh, shut up, Ry," I laugh, rolling my eyes. "I didn't even touch his dick, dude."

"Yeah right!" Ryan scoffs. "But both of you are horny like twenty-four-seven, you can't tell me you were at least sucking his dick."

"I was not!" I argue, accidentally drawing a darker line than I'd intended. "We're just making out, so shut up."

"Whatever you say," Ryan laughed, glancing up at Mr. Way. I shake my head, smiling slightly. I catch the eyes of the teacher and look away quickly, changing the subject.

"Besides, I didn't go because I was hanging with Jamia," I add, pushing my finger over a line and smudging it slightly. "I actually enjoy hanging out with my best friend."

"I'm offended that you'd rather be with Jamia than us!" Ryan says with mock outrage.

"She's a hell of a lot nicer than you, dickwad," I shoot back.

"At least Brendon loves me," Ryan jokes.

"Shut the fuck up, that's fucking gay," I giggle, completely disregarding my project.

"Frank," His voice speaks up and my gaze immediately shoots over to Mr. Way. "Mind your language, please."

"Whatever," I mumble, rolling my eyes. "Ryan swore too!"

"I didn't hear Ryan, I heard you," Mr. Way replies.

"Bullshit," I huffed, remembering our conversation in the Starbucks and smirking.

"Detention after school, yet again," Mr. Way sighs, just looking tiredly back at my shit-eating grin. "Watch your mouth, I'm quite sure the rest of class doesn't want to hear your whining," I swear my eyes rolled back so far again that I could see my damn brain. I was not whining, I was stating a fact. And the fact is, Mr. Way was singling me out and I wasn't going to stand for it.

"I don't care about your detention," I say loudly. At this point, I should have shut up, there was no reason for me to keep arguing. I just liked pushing Mr. Way's buttons, and honestly? His voice was nice too, even when he was yelling at me.

"Shut up, Frank," He replied, glaring. I shook my head patronizingly, relishing the fury building on his usually calm face.

The rest of the period was spent with Mr. Way ignoring my clear intention to annoy the living shit out of him by talking loudly and obnoxiously to Ryan and making obscene jokes that made the majority of the class snicker. I don't know what'd come over me, because by the time the end of school bell had rung, I'd become a lot more aware of the shit I'd pulled.

"You're in for shit, Frank," Ryan hissed to me as he left, jerking his head at Mr. Way.

"I don't care, remember?" I called to him, watching everyone leave. The last person leaves the room, the heavy classroom door slamming shut with a bang. I turned to look at Mr. Way with my smirk back on my face, surprised to see a smile on his face as well.

"You're quite brave, aren't you?" Mr. Way says, blowing any chance I had at maintaining my asshole facade.

"What?" I said, confused.

"Purposely trying to piss me off and generally being disrespectful," Mr. Way replies, getting up to stand across from me. "Did you completely forget what we'd discussed about respect three days ago?"

"No, I didn't," I mumbled. Mr. Way crosses his arms, his waistcoat shifting.

"Then why," He continues, drawing closer fractionally. "Did you think it was necessary to act out today? You've been perfectly fine since Tuesday."

"Yeah, because I was ignoring you," I snapped, rolling my eyes.

"Why?" Mr. Way asked.

"I don't know, just fuck off," I said, snapping my gaze to the door. I hoped that Mr. Way would let me go, the tension was almost overwhelming. Mr. Way sighed, his smile morphing into a glare.

"Watch your mouth," He retorted. I smirked.

"Make me." My response was juvenile and stupid but it did its job. Mr. Way's eyes flashed and he seemed to consider taking me up on my offer, moving to stand closer to my desk.

"Don't make offers like that, you might end up somewhere you don't want to be," He warned. I huffed in frustration, rolling my eyes yet again. That would have been the perfect opportunity for Mr. Way to kiss me. 

"What even happened last Tuesday?" I asked, leaning back in my chair.

"I saw you in a Starbucks and we had a discussion, that's it," Mr. Way replied firmly.

"You kissed me, though..." I mumbled. Mr. Way smirked and shook his head patronizingly.

"And?" He said. "You're saying that like it matters."

"It does!" I retorted, scowling. I'd replayed the incident in my mind every day since, and it had seemed like Mr. Way reciprocated my feelings.

"It doesn't."

"So why did you do it?!" I exclaimed exasperatedly. 

"I don't think I have to explain myself to you," Mr. Way laughed. 

"That makes no fucking sense, you owe me an explanation," I demanded angrily. I leaned forward, holding Mr. Way's gaze. "Why'd you kiss me if it didn't matter to you?" Mr. Way didn't answer, only stared levelly back at me. "Oh, fuck you," I mumbled before pushing forward more and pressing my lips to his.

There was no reaction from Mr. Way for a second. He was frozen before kissing back for a moment and pulling away. The silence stretched unbearably as Mr. Way looked around, checking the windows and doors for unwanted spies watching them.

"You shouldn't have done that, Frankie," He said finally, turning his smirk back to me, as I was chewing my lip anxiously. "Though I'm not surprised that you have no regard for school rules."

"If you're just going to lecture me, then I'll leave," I huffed, shouldering my bag and moving to leave.

"Wait," Mr. Way said loudly as my fingers curled around the doorknob. I turned grudgingly, ready for some other lecture. "Don't breathe a word to anyone about this, understand?" 

What? My eyebrows shot up in shock as Mr. Way walked towards me. "I'm not going to lose my job for a seventeen-year-old twink." He pressed another chaste kiss to my lips, a stray hand playing with a brown strand of hair. 

I hummed appreciatively and my backpack slipped off my shoulder on to the floor. It made absolutely no sense, why would Mr. Way even like me enough to risk his job? After a while of lazy kissing, the taller man released me.

"Y-Yeah, yeah I understand," I breathed, a smile gracing my lips. It'd seemed impossible that the hot art teacher would ever give me the time of day, but it was apparent that I'd done something right. "What's your name?" I asked suddenly, feeling foolish for asking. This was so fucking bizarre.

"Gerard," Mr. Way replied, his hand still winding a strand of my hair around his finger slowly. There was something familiar about that name, but I brushed it off, leaning down to pick up my bag. 

"I should probably go," I muttered, my bag hanging loosely off my shoulder with no intention of leaning. I could wax rhapsodic about the man standing in front of me for hours, he seemed so much more attractive up close. 

"You can, but then you'll serve your detention tomorrow instead of today," Gerard replied, drawing his hand away and stepping back, lacing his fingers behind his back.

"What?!" I said indignantly. "But-!"

"I can't treat you differently, what if someone catches on?" Gerard interjects smugly, retreating to his desk. The asshole laughed at the pissed off expression on my face. "I think you can handle another half-hour with me."

"Fine," I whined, sitting back down at my own desk and pulling out my phone. The minutes moved fast. After half an hour and many secretive looks, Gerard spoke up.

"You can go now, Frank," He said.

"Okay, see ya," I rushed out, snagging my bag and walking as fast as I could to the door.

"Consider behaving, next class!" Gerard yelled after me just before the door closed.

~time skip~

"You look crazy, calm down," Jamia rolled her eyes, shoving my small form on to her couch. "You wanted to talk, I can't talk to you while you're babbling like someone on crack."

"I don't know how to explain, I'm not supposed to even be talking to you about this, Jam!" I sighed, chewing on my lip ring. It seemed to be a coping mechanism at this point and my lip was suffering greatly from this stress. "Gerard kissed me back and I don't know what to do!"

"Gerard?"

"Mr. Way!"

"Oh!" Jamia exclaimed, looking a lot more interested. "He kissed you again?"

"No, I kissed him this time," I admitted, tugging on my hair.

"Jesus Christ, you're like a teenage girl," Jamia laughed. "If he kissed you back, then he likes you, idiot! Calm down."

"But he's my teacher!" I cried, suddenly panicking. What if we got found out and Gerard got in trouble? 

"You're worried about that now?" Jamia stared at me in amusement. "He kissed you twice and you're worried about the logistics _now_? He obviously cares at least a little bit about you, so why are you so worried?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, feeling frazzled and hysterical. 

"Seriously Frank, you never act like this," Jamia continued, sitting next to me. "What's wrong?"

"It's different this time," I said. She was right, though. Why was I ruining this with my stupid worrying? "I guess I'm just nervous about what might happen. How well do I know him?"

"Get to know him then!" Jamia shook her head at me. "You're overthinking it."

"I don't know, I feel like there's something big that I don't know about him, something important," I mumble. 

"Then figure it out, jeez Frank!" I could tell her patience was wearing thin so I laughed.

"Alright, alright!" I threw up my hands in surrender. "I've got a right to worry, don't I?"

"Yeah, but you're annoying when you freak out," Jamia grumbled, reaching over to take a drink of her discarded beer on the coffee table. I roll my eyes, feeling slightly better.

Nothing about this situation was normal, so I had no idea where to go from here. Was I supposed to let Gerard take the lead, or would I do something? I never usually thought about the other person this much. I've never gotten this attached. 

Sometimes I wish I weren't so insufferably gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT IM SORRY!!! This took so long because I've had finals and a fuckton of projects. Here is your dose of Frerard (hopefully not too bad!). Love you guys, gals, and pals.


	6. My Love And My Hate For You Are Infinite

** _Gerard's POV_ **

I could have stuck to my family business and saved myself the torture of becoming a high school teacher, but it was necessary. No one would suspect a lowly underpaid educator of anything. Either way, I was severely regretting it as I got to know one student in particular.

Frank Iero.

The overconfident bratty teenager that every girl swooned over. His charm lay in his ability to turn every situation into a huge joke and his apparently natural good looks. The long brown wavy hair he sported daily was often messy and untamed, as was his attitude. 

I hated the kid. Well, not exactly. I was stupid to get involved with him, it was dangerous for a number of reasons. But he was just as irresistible as he thought he was. I'd never seen such an insolent stuck-up boy in my life. Even the way he _walked_ was provocative and disrespectful. Skipping classes over the smallest of inconveniences and cussing out teachers, he was precisely what all the faculty said he was. 

A good-for-nothing privileged jackass. That might be stretching the truth, but we all thought it. 

In my eyes after our run in at the local Starbucks, he'd changed. While I'd reprimanded him several times and he'd seemed embarrassed during school, this incident was nothing compared to that day.

_A small body fell into my side, and my comic slipped from my grip. Jittery from waiting for Toro, I whip my head around, ready to punch whoever had knocked into me. To my shock, the person stumbled over themselves to scoot away, mumbling apologies and fixing their skirt._

_The one and only Frank Iero. Blushing and stuttering while clad in what could only be described as a schoolgirl uniform, sitting next to me. _

_"Fuck, s-sorry," He mutters, looking up at me. By that time, I was smirking widely, highly amused by the sight before me._

_"It's okay, I'm good," I say, just in case he was worried about my well-being, which I doubted._

_"I just didn't want to been seen by anyone from school, y'know?" He tries to justify his appearance, his eyes fixated on a group of rowdy teenagers from the school. I could tell he was itching to relieve himself of the situation from the way his shifting and looking for an opening in the crowd.  
_

_"Because of your outfit, I assume?" I guess, watching him nod.   
_

_"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone, please?" He begs quickly, looking panicked. It might've been sick of me, but I enjoyed seeing him flustered.   
_

_"I'm quite good at keeping secrets, so yours is safe with me," I promise, patting myself on the back for the irony. He visibly relaxes, and I decide to take a chance. "You look cute, by the way," I tack on, catching his glance and smirking again. His cheeks dust with a light shade of pink again.  
_

_"You too," Frank blurts out, and I laugh lightly. "I didn't-... oh fuck off, whatever," I could tell that the swearing was just a reflex but it was enjoyable to poke fun at him.  
_

_"It isn't polite to swear, Frankie," I scold seriously. We continued snipping at each other back and forth. But the little shit seemed to have regained his confidence.  
_

_"Either way, you can't tell me what to do, so I'll do whatever I fucking damn well please," He finishes his little speech.  
_

_"I could make you," I say under my breath, too quickly for him to catch, judging from his confused expression. I clear my throat before speaking louder._

_"Don't test me," I warn, despite my smile. "You should learn to respect your authorities, it'll get you far." He seemed to be gathering his wits, hazel eyes glazing over a little.  
_

_"It won't get me jack shit," He argues. "I shouldn't have to answer to anyone." Frank didn't even meet my gaze, staring determinedly at the table like a little asshole.  
_

_"Says the guy in a skirt, your statements have no grounds," I point out.  
_

_"My choice of clothing has nothing to do with my want to be a leader!" He snaps back. Utter bullshit. Frank had no intention of being a leader. I can tell when people want that. They have a sort of drive and passion to direct people to their cause. Frank, I could tell, was a follower. Someone who wouldn't mind submitting to another person's will. I was not that. I was the type of person to lead.  
_

_"What guy have you seen in a skirt that is the leader in anything?" I remind him.  
_

_"Oh, fuck off," Frank huffs, standing up to leave. Without consciously deciding to, my hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist. I wasn't going to let him walk away without admitting he was wrong.  
_

_"You admit that I'm right?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow. Frank doesn't seem to have a problem with being manhandled, his eyes wide and indignant as he tries to argue.  
_

_"Hell no, I'm just saying I can have authority too!" He says stubbornly.  
_

_"It's useless to argue with me, we both know I'm right," I say back, hearing a smug tone creeping into my voice.  
_

_"I don't even know what you're right about, honestly," He replies weakly, aggravating me. Was he not paying any attention to what I was saying? Or was he just arguing for the sake of arguing?  
_

_"Let's simplify it then," I nearly growl, angrily staring him down as he shrunk into himself. "Be respectful and watch your mouth, I won't have you running around throwing curses at me like I deserve that. Choose your words more carefully, Frank. Or you may end up somewhere you don't want to be." My tone was dark and easily menacing. There was a beat of silence where Frank's face was slack and shocked before it rearranged itself into a cocky grin.  
_

_"Is that a threat, sir?" He simpered, and I mentally face-palmed.  
_

_"Shut up, Frank,"  
_

_"Sorry I pissed you off," He was obviously pushing my buttons, trying to get me to snap with that mocking tone. That was what infuriated me about Frank Iero. If he were anyone else and they treated me like this, I would have killed them. But this was a student and I couldn't have word spreading about how I punched a kid's face in. Not that I would, his pretty face wasn't something I wanted to mess up. "Didn't need to get all pissy because I made a fucking joke."  
_

_"You, Frank Iero, are an asshole," I sigh, taking a sip of my cold coffee. "We could have had a nice conversation, and you ruined it."  
_

_"What happened to your hatred of swearing, Mr. Way?" He mocked, laughter bubbling up with his tone. "It isn't polite to swear, Frank," The boy takes on a high-pitched obviously imitation of my voice.  
_

_"It isn't, but you being a bratty asshole called for the cursing at the time, as it does now," I shoot back. I look up to see a bright smirk decorating his face and I snap. My hand tightens on his wrist and I straighten up, leaning towards him. "I can swear in this situation, Frank. Wipe that self-righteous smirk off your face and either leave or fucking behave." The expression drops off his face satisfyingly and he's left looking dumbfounded._

_"Okay, I'm sorry," He apologizes quickly. I nod towards the queues and release his wrist. I can see a red mark forming and I feel slightly guilty. But as he turned in his seat to leave, I decided to mess with him a little more. I move to be right behind him and set my lips beside his ear. It's risky, but worth it to put a brat in his place.  
_

_"Try to keep this good attitude in class, hm?" I hum, smirking at the violent shiver my words invoke. To my surprise, he turns back suddenly, our lips nearly touching. Out of reflex, I move back and his face falls. "And what do you think you're doing, Frankie?" I ask. I know what he tried to do, but I wasn't going to let him kiss me. I was going to kiss him, not the other way around.  
_

_"N-Nothing, just leaving," He rushes out, leaping out of his seat to stumble through his order and retrieve what he came originally to buy. As he's struggling to open the door to leave, trying to balance his coffee on his arms, I reach around him to open the door. As he's mumbling some sort of thank you, I press my lips to his cheek, his skin soft and smooth.  
_

_"Don't be as obvious next time,"  
_

Perhaps my kissing him was a lapse in judgement. It was actually a horrible idea, but I don't regret it. As much as Frank is a little shit and makes me want to punch a wall, he's like a breath of fresh air after all of the bland rule-following men that I work around. Of course, they have to follow the rules but that's beside the point.

So no, I don't regret kissing him. And I sure as hell don't regret agreeing to get involved with him. I only worry that he may be hurt in the process...

~~~

"Taste the rainbow, homosexual!" I walk into the classroom just as Ryan shouts.

"Frank and Ryan, for the love of God!" I shout over the din. Immediately, the class quiets and I'm left staring at the two idiots giggling in the middle of the classroom. Apparently, the two thought it would be hilarious to flick paint at each other while perched on desks. So now there was multi-coloured paint all over the desks and floor, not to mention themselves. I'm never leaving this classroom alone again. The two boys stood on desks, nearly drenched in acrylics and holding bottles and paintbrushes like swords.

"Christ Ryan, you look like someone jizzed all over you." Frank laughs, gesturing at the large amount of white paint splattered on his friend.

"Well, you look like a pride parade threw up on you!" Ryan throws back. He wasn't wrong, as Ryan had used a whole lot more colours to throw at Frank. "We all know you're bi, but do you have to shove it in our faces?"

"You threw the rainbow at me, dude!"

"Both of you!" I snapped, gaining their attention. Ryan merely looked at me and continued to giggle, as Frank flushed a nice shade of crimson and stopped laughing. "Are you planning to use those paints?"

"It's modern art, Mr. Way!" Ryan pipes up, flailing a paintbrush around and accidentally spattering Frank with more paint. "We're just doing the work assigned to us!"

"Well, then you can go show the principal your artwork," I say, my hands clasped in front of me. 

"No, fuck that!" Frank shoots, looking indignant. It was highly endearing, his thin lips curved downwards in a pout, a little bit of ink revealing on the inside of his lip. 

"Then you can stay after school to clean it, Frank," I reply smoothly. I looked forward to hanging out with him in detention, not that it wouldn't be treated as detention for him.

"Fine!" He grumbled, hopping off the desk and flopping into his seat. I sighed and composed myself before sitting at my desk.

The period passed quickly as Frank was quiet this time around, his head ducked down and staring blankly at his phone for about ten minutes before the lesson finished. The bell rang and I let Ryan go, saying that only Frank was needed to clean the desks. The door clicked closed behind the last person and I turned to face the sullen paint-drenched teenager.

"Don't pout, Frankie, you brought this on yourself," I said, handing him a rag.

"I'm not cleaning it," He muttered, crossing his arms.

"Frank, you're being ridiculous," I sighed, sitting next to him. The teenager had his head in his arms, hiding his face like a child.

"Could I go?" He asked. I frowned.

"What's wrong?" He lifted his head and I sucked in a breath. I hadn't noticed his face as I was determinedly not looking at him during class and was shocked to see his eyes swelling up a little and his cheeks wet.

"Nothing, just uh, tired I guess?" He answered quietly. That was a blatant lie, but I didn't push it.

"How about this, clean half of it and then you can go home?" I offered gently. He nodded, grabbing the rag and moving to start cleaning, his head dropping down again and his hair obscuring most of his face. What had happened, I wondered. He worked quickly however, so before I could ask him again, Frank was lifting his rather small bag on to his shoulder.

"I'm going to go, see you in class tomorrow Gerard," Frank mumbled, heading for the door. 

"Wait right there, Frankie," I called, hastily packing my things into my carrier bag and flicking off the lights. "I'm driving you home, you seem upset."

"It's fine, really!" He tried to protest, but I'd already ushered him out of the classroom.

"I'm trying to help you, Frankie," I insisted, and he huffed, following me grudgingly. I led us to my car, which was thankfully parked a decent distance from the school. I clicked my car unlocked and gestured for him to take the passenger seat.

I climbed into the driver's seat, closing the door behind me. I turned to face the quiet boy beside me, determined to get an answer.

"What made you so upset during class?" I asked. He never looked up, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

"I-I... it was nothing really," He lied, twisting his fingers around harshly. I noticed some black pen inking his fingers, the lines dark and harsh, the skin around the ink red and raw. He'd been digging an ink pen into his hands so hard that the skin was broken in some places, dried blood decorating his fingers in another form of destructive colour.

"Don't lie to me, okay?" I demanded, harsher than I'd intended upon seeing the wounds on his skin. "You cut yourself with an ink pen really badly and you are so obviously going through something."

"I just can't talk about it right now alright?" He snapped, folding the injured hands away from my view.

"Why not?" 

"I'm not ready to deal with it, and either way it doesn't fucking matter!" He cried, aggravated. 

"You shouldn't-" He cut me off.

"If you're going to drive me home then do it, or I'm getting out." Frank sighed, slumping back in the seat. I stared him down for a second before starting the car without a word.

"Directions?" I asked curtly as we left the parking lot. He only spoke to tell me when to turn. I pulled up at a house in the nicer part of Belleville. It was quite large, actually. Close to a mansion really. Not as large as my own house, but I'm not comparing Frank's house to mine.

To my surprise, Ryan appeared on the doorstep, a look of worry on his cleaned face. Frank sniffed a little and finally looked up at me, his eyes wide and shining.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Gee," He rasped, tears falling down his cheeks. Just before undoing his seatbelt and leaving, he leaned over to press his lips to mine despite his friend clearly seeing us and waiting.

"Frank?" I said, confused as he pulled away. The boy just shook his head and got out, slamming the door behind him. I watched as he ran to Ryan, collapsing against him and the taller supported his weight. I only pulled out of the drive as the front door closed behind the pair.

I was beginning to see past the exterior that Frank put up and I wasn't sure if I wanted to see it. Because all I could see now was a broken boy with a secret that he wouldn't reveal.

In that regard, we're more alike than I'd previously suspected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so I'm done this chapter! 
> 
> *gasp* what is frank's secret?
> 
> What is Gerard's secret?
> 
> Do you guys think the boys are moving too fast?
> 
> COMMENT!


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